If you were Hermione Granger, you'd be insane too
by Raineisahuman
Summary: Rated teen for not entirely nice concepts. Hermione is a complete and total nutcase. Crackfic! May be one-shot, may not.


Some days aren't worth chewing your way through the covers and fighting with your clothes.

"Potato incoming!" A rather excited voice intoned. The resultant SPLAT surprised no one. "Ew, there's sour cream on my top! I'll get you, you jerk!"

Hermione Granger sighed. This was one of those days. "I hate my life." She bemoaned. "Really, days like this just shouldn't happen."

Ron looked at her with surprise in his eyes. "Why? What's so terrible about today? I mean, it's not raining, we haven't seen a single Dark Lord in the Great Hall today so far, and lunch is DELICIOUS." He accentuated his point by stabbing his piece of cherry pie and stuffing the entire thing in his mouth.

"Ron, that's disgusting." She stopped short. "Doesn't it bother you that you have cranberry sauce in your hair?", she asked, eying it with revulsion.

He looked up, confusion in his features. "Nuh, fud hit, Hermia-knee?" His meal definitely looked gross, half-way chewed. She winced and his face turned red. It took about forty five seconds for him to finish chewing. "Uh, I said, should it Hermione? I mean, cranberry sauce is amazing. Plus, it'll wash out eventually. Maybe in a few days." He snagged a roll and liberally smeared it with a red jam, not looking at Hermione at all. She sighed again. Dramatically. She peeked to her other side. No reaction. None at all.

Inside Hermione fumed. Damn you, Harry Potter, her mind raged. Why aren't you bothered? Then she blinked as she remembered that she wasn't in an argument with Harry. Oh yeah.

It's really one of those days.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Hermione fumbled through her next class. It was arithmancy, and she was the only Gryffindor of her year in the class. She didn't really know the red-faced seventh year from her house. In fact, she didn't even know his name. It was rather like he was a convenient set in, a plot device to be used just once in a badly thought out script, if you will. She promised herself to continue in this train of thought later.

Heh heh, Train of thought. "Choo-choo." She stated rather loudly. No one even turned to look at her. The rest of the class was rather used to her weirdness by now. Most of them attributed it to her Muggle upbringing, but actually she was just prone to talking to herself by nature. Perhaps she could blame it on her mother. She twisted her quill between her fingers as she listened to the teacher talk, then reverently set it down at the top of her desk. She really liked that quill. It was good for writing, and… and…well, it was good for writing.

Hey, the Professor wasn't talking anymore. And he was…looking at her. Oh, crap. Did he ask me something? Hermione furiously thought back through the lesson plan she had stolen from Professor Vector's office at the beginning of the week. What were we studying today? Her mind worked furiously as she lifted her head to look her teacher in the eye. She took a wild guess based on what she remembered of today's lesson plan.

"The squared root of the Flargelblatt theorem is the basis for Lithuanian methods of dragon baiting. The method is especially useful on the solar equinox, but can cause severe acne to the users."

Her Professor blinked, obviously impressed.

"Well, Miss Granger, and here I was thinking you were indulging in a long-winded internal monologue to set the tone for the day, when you were clearly focused on our discussion. Forgive me for doubting you, you've done your research admirably. Now, can anyone tell me the price of a pickle in Paris on an odd Sunday that is rainy?"

And life went on. Hermione idly wondered if it had been worth it after to, er, _**borrow **_Harry's invisibility cloak, disarm the Professor's monitoring charms on his office, and copy the lesson plans from the previous seventeen years to study in an attempt to be prepared. The subject wasn't nearly as difficult as she'd been led to believe. Why, the whole thing was simply stupid. Arithmancy seemed a little random, but everything made perfect sense if you just understood the basics of algebra and knitting.

It was all just plain common sense, despite the initially odd notion of magical science. She really didn't see why Harry had gone into laughing hysterics when she suggested he take the class with her.

She picked up the quill again, with intent to take notes. She paused. She already had eight different Ravenclaw student's notes from this class. Obviously, she'd only taken notes from the "Outstanding" students. She was currently in the long process of comparing them all with each other to cross-reference and insure she understood absolutely everything the teacher had ever said in class. Added to that she also had the stress of hunting down the aforementioned students periodically to renew the Befuddlement hexes that insured they didn't notice the loss of the notes.

Her boys never understood how hard it is to be a girl. Those silly things didn't even question how she was both skilled enough to brew advanced potions, and knew to use the girl's restroom, given her rather unimpressive track record with choosing good bathrooms to sulk in. "Of course", she remembered, "what with all the experimental potions I've slipped in Ron's pumpkin juice, it's a wonder he's…., well, something _**resembling**_ functional."

She looked at her teacher, who was prancing around the room in a rather sad imitation of the Salad-bar styled rain dance. Hermione condescendingly noted that it was performed at a skill level she and her Muggle grandmother had already surpassed. Truly pathetic and out-dated. She stood up, and with one last glance behind her, shouldered her ridiculously heavy bag (made with real iron, so as to never split a seam under the enormous weight of the books she shoved into it) and walked out of the classroom without a second thought.

Tim the Gryffindor seventh-year looked up at her leaving figure and didn't see fit to comment, even internally. After all, Hermione had already dramatically walked out of a class once, it was old news. That was SOOO third book. Tim blinked. Third year, he meant year. He ignored his teacher. "Really," he mused, "My old Muggle science teacher did this dance better, and her version was more interesting." Even though the pickle juice congealed unpleasantly in your hair. He nostalgically thought back to the good old days in elementary school, never mind that they were supremely irrelevant. "They used to call me Tim the Magician, every time the Knights of Camelot came to town to buy shrubbery…"

Hermione bounced on the balls of her feet as she traversed down the hallway, spinning and idly trailing her fingers against the walls each time she turned, fingers splayed. The stone was cold under her fingers, and she vaguely noticed the feel of fresh chicken blood collecting under her fingernails. "I really wish Ginny didn't have that weird obsession with killing farm animals and smearing their blood on the walls to write encoded love letters to Harry." she mused. "I'm pretty sure he already thinks she's crazy, and she makes him cry. Obviously, they must be soul mates, bound to end up with each other in a loveless marriage and name their children after dead people they don't even like." She giggled. Maybe they'd name one Severus! She broke down laughing in a crumpled mess on the corridor floor. What an utterly stupid idea! Only a complete moron would ever think that a possibility. Honestly.

Her fit over, she got up and continued walking as though nothing had ever happened. She realized that she didn't actually have a destination in mind. Gryffindor tower was chock-full of ugly chairs and no one to nag, as classes were in session. She mentally made a note to accidentally burn down Gryffindor tower, blame it on Malfoy (Harry'd buy it), and lobby for new house colors, as a symbol of the House's resurrection.

Moving on! The library was smelly, and filled with books. There was no point in reading if you weren't simultaneously annoying and ignoring your friends. Reading for pleasure? Honestly, what an inane concept. Hermione much preferred stealthily playing back the hissing sounds she had recorded outside of the snake cages at a pet store and watching Harry run around in a panic, screeching that the basilisk was back and wanted "Mom's home cookin' rat chowder now, damnit". She belatedly realized that her friend wasn't very…intelligent. But that's okay, because he has morals, and great fiber content.

She said that wrong, didn't she?

Oh well.

Her friends didn't know that she had solved the age-old problem of getting Muggle technology to work inside of Hogwarts. The problem was ridiculously simplistic and complex. See, magic follows every conceivable law, but breaks them all. So, all she'd had to do was inform her wand that it was impossible to create a charm that would allow technology to work inside Hogwarts, and watch it prove its own laws wrong. She was hideously disappointed with the fruits of her labor. After all her hard work, her tape recorder was the only thing worth bringing to school. Stupid Alltel phone still got no reception, and Fluffy had eaten her earphones, when she had tried to retrieve them.

She "Hmmppfed!"

"Last time I ever lend anything to HIM." Hermione grumbled. "How utterly rude."

"Rude, little girl?" A predictably stereotyped voice drawled. "Well, "Rude" is the least of your problems now! Fight me, Fool!"

Hermione steadily pretended she couldn't see the source of her irritation, but the thing just wouldn't shut up. She sighed in the dim realization that she wasn't going to get out of this one. Still, one last try wouldn't hurt…

"Bellatrix, that Dark Lord went that way." She stated matter-of-factly, pointing up the Headmaster's stairs.

"Lies! You can't fool me! If you say he went there, then this must be a trap." Bellatrix Lestrange puzzled out the meaning of her own sentence. "Therefore, the opposite of the Dark Lord being in the Headmaster's office is true!"

Hermione dutifully gasped. "No! Well, he most certainly isn't in the greenhouses!"

Bellatrix crowed triumphantly. "I've got it! If the opposite is true, than Harry Potter must be in the Headmaster's office! So, I'll go out to the Greenhouses, fetch the Dark Lord, and tell him that Potter is hiding like the cowardly little Gryffindor he is, and I shall be rewarded!" She dashed off wildly, overturning a cart filled to the brim with Colin Creevey's photos.

Hermione, looking at her nails, dramatically intoned: "Nooo! How did this happen? It was such a good plan! No, no, no…okay, she's gone." Idiot, Voldemort hasn't even been in the castle yet this year. Hermione just couldn't figure out why Dumbledore didn't just get rid of the inbred menace currently speeding to Greenhouse number Eight, to discover and subsequently blow up, burn down, and push into the swamp the building because it was chock-full with Hufflepuff third-years. Well, it wasn't HER problem, thank-you-very-much.

Hermione moved on with her life, and went back to weighing the merits of throwing all the teacups out of the Divination tower. There were a lot of merits.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

Harry Potter twitched nervously. It had been almost an hour since he'd last heard that dratted basilisk, taunting him with riddle-laden hunting songs. He was SURE the monster would go after some of the students soon. He rather hoped it was Ginny, but, failing that, didn't want any of his school-mates injured. "If only I'd left her the first time… I'm not likely to get another golden opportunity to say "I tried and there was nothing I could do." very soon. He allowed himself to fantasize about her untimely death (untimely as in,"OH GOD I thought she'd NEVER leave!) for a quick moment. Sure, Ron would resent him for a while, then he'd pull himself together in his grief and they'd be closer than ever. If their friendship was held together by life-threatening, traumatic events (the power of love, as Dumbledore jokingly called it. No one else got the joke), imagine what a real death would do to their friendship! They'd get as close as two blokes could be!

Harry shivered. On that note, if Ron ever says he's lonely and needs to be held, volunteer Hermione. No, wait, not her. Luna. She needed to get laid even more than Hermione.

He thoughtfully stared out the window next to his seat. Now all he needed was a way to get rid of the body… He'd need help. But who could possibly be sadistic and undiscriminating enough to dispose of the still-warm body of a fifteen year old nutcase?

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Hermione felt her spidey senses tingling. "Somewhere, someone sitting at a school desk just thought of asking for my help!" She whipped out her notebook and added another line to her already-impressive tally for the day.

She put it away in her bag as quickly as she had taken it out. She pulled her wand out of her pocket and stuck it between her teeth, idly chewing as she drafted out her plan of attack so far. It looked something liked this:

Step One: Sneak into Divination Tower.

Step Two: Evade batty Professor and get her to leave classroom.

Step Three: Toss teacups out windows, clipping as many underclassmen as possible.

Step Four: Mark her score.

Step Five: Hide behind door when Professor comes back up the steps, and push her down them.

Step Six: Run like hell, giggling madly. Be far away when body is discovered.

Hermione put down her quill, entirely satisfied. Now, she need only lay the foundation with a character witness, to avoid implicating herself. She scanned the slowly-filling common room. "Neville!" She shouted, and watched him jump and squish his stupid toad. She wisely decided not to mention its sudden demise. "I really like Professor Trelawney" she said, nodding vigorously. "I felt terrible about the things I once said about her, as I have now experienced the true Sight."

Neville nodded, wide-eyed and scampered off to spread the gossip.

Hermione crumpled up her plan and tossed it only Lavender's bed. She'd be worried about leaving evidence like that lying around, if she didn't know better. Luckily, she knew that her roommates were illiterate. The two would Ooh and Ah over the pretty paper for a while, getting their magical signatures all over the murder evidence.

She'd always wanted a dorm room to herself.


End file.
